


Who Wants to Live Forever

by miss_aphelion



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Minor Gamora/Peter Quill, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_aphelion/pseuds/miss_aphelion
Summary: SPOILERS FOR VOL. 2.On Drexis Five, Peter gets fatally wounded. It doesn’t really take.(Or, the one where Ego’s legacy is somewhat harder to shake than planned)





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just got back on a working computer and I’m supposed to be working on two other long WIPs, but then I saw Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2. And so instead there’s this.

They took the job because it was supposed to be—in the strange words of Peter—a cakewalk. Gamora was fairly certain this could be interpreted as something that was easy, which this mission certainly was not. They were just supposed to grab some old relic that had been stolen from the Grand Duke of Drexis Six, and return it to him for 700,000 credits. Except the Grand Duke had neglected to mention that the relic in question was taken centuries ago in a war, and had been in possession of Drexis Five for the last three hundred years. 

Or that it would be heavily guarded, in a high security museum. 

“We really need to start vetting our clients,” Peter decided, as he dropped down beside her under cover. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and he seemed slightly out of breath, but otherwise unharmed. Gamora did not like to admit to it, but she worried over Peter more than the others. Since he had destroyed that abomination of a father, he had left himself vulnerable. “Maybe we can have a checklist. Do you have a criminal record? Are you a megalomaniac? Are you planning to take over the galaxy in the near future?” 

“Further questioning for future clients would seem prudent,” Gamora agreed, ducking as another blast flew beside her head. “However, the Grand Duke technically did not lie.” 

“You’re gonna argue semantics?” Peter asked incredulously. “Gamora, it’s in a freakin' museum. We got hired for a _heist_. We’re not supposed to do this stuff anymore. We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy.” 

“It was fun though,” Rocket shouted over the comms. “Hey, since he lied, can I keep it?” 

“No!” Peter and Gamora cried out at the same time. 

“Rocket, you were supposed to put it back!” Peter yelled. “Please tell me you put it back?” 

“Yeah yeah,” Rocket grumbled back. “I put it back! I did! But are you sure I can’t take _anything_? Not even something small-like, you know, that would fit in my pocket?” 

“Rocket, do you remember the last time you took something you were not supposed to?” Gamora asked cooly. 

“Okay, fine! You make one mistake, sheesh. You ever gonna let me live that down?” he demanded. 

“It was two weeks ago,” she snapped back. 

“Exactly! Two whole weeks. Get over it already,” Rocket told them. “Where the hell are you guys anyway? I just got back to the ship. The others are already here.” 

“Yeah, we’re a little pinned down,” Peter said, risking a glance over the rock that was sheltering them. As soon as he got his eyes above the edge, Drexis security started firing again. “Okay. Plans? Anything? I got maybe 5%.” 

“You’d think you would be getting better at planning, not getting worse,” Gamora told him. 

“Well, how much of a plan have you got?” he asked. 

“100%. We stand. We stun them. We run,” she decided. 

“That is not a plan, that is a Butch and Sundance style swan song,” Peter protested. “We may have a stun setting on our guns, but those things they’re using could put a hole straight through us.” 

“They are doing their duty,” Gamora said. “They are soldiers hired to guard this museum. We are the trespassers. If we kill them…” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter sighed. “I know.” 

“Why is this a problem!” Rocket snapped over the comm. “They’re trying to kill you, you gotta take them out. Don’t you have the grenades I made you?” 

“We’re not blowing them up,” Gamora said firmly. 

“It’ll be quick!” Rocket promised. “We can write the museum a letter of apology, or something. It’ll be fine.” 

“If we kill them, we’re not the good guys anymore,” Peter explained patiently. “I _like_ being the good guy. You know they’re selling action figures of us on Riebus now?” 

“Yeah, and I look like a tark-rat!” Rocket yelled. “I’d have blown those things up, too, if you’d let me!” 

“We’re not blowing anything up!” Peter yelled back. 

“So we go with my plan,” Gamora said, giving a decisive nod as she switched the setting on her gun. “One—two—“ 

“Really, we’re just gonna—“ 

“—three—“ 

Peter and Gamora both spun and stood, synchronized like a well oiled machine, and fired at the guards. There were seven of them, and Gamora had taken down four of them by the time Peter took aim at his third—but he wasn’t quite fast enough. 

The guard fired first. 

Peter didn’t really feel it, at first. He heard Gamora’s anguished cry, and he saw her fire off another perfect shot and send the last guard flying back into unconsciousness—but he didn’t really understand what had happened until he looked down, and saw the crater that was sitting where his chest used to be. 

“Oh, god,” he said, and then his legs were giving out. Gamora caught him, and gently lowered him down. 

“Peter?” she said, reaching out frantically to frame his face. “Peter, stay with me.” 

Her eyes looked strange in the light on this planet, Peter thought. It almost looked like she was crying. 

“That’s definitely gonna leave a mark,” Peter told her, and closed his eyes. 

“No, no, look at me, Peter,” Gamora said, shaking him slightly. “I need you to stay with me. Peter?” 

She sounded so desperate that he forced himself to reopen his eyes. The pain in his chest was familiar, and strange, all at once. He remembered being impaled on one of Ego’s tendrils of light, the way it hollowed him out, burning him from the inside. 

There wouldn’t be any coming back from it this time. The light was gone, and he was mortal. 

He was dying. 

He reached up weakly to brush back Gamora’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he told her. 

“No, you’re going to be fine,” she insisted, before activating her comm. “Rocket, get my sister! Get Kraglin. We need the medical supplies. You…you have to hurry.” 

“We’re coming,” Rocket replied, deadly calm, somehow always steadier when there was a crisis. 

“Gamora,” Peter started sadly. He always knew he was going to die young. He always sort of felt like he was on borrowed time, ever since the moment that Yondu picked him up—but then he’d found a family, and then he learned he’d had family in Yondu all along, and why did the universe always let him find them just in time to rip them apart? “You know we can’t fix this.” 

“We can,” she insisted. Her voice was steady, even as her breathing hitched. “We will. You’re going to be okay. You’ll see.” 

“I wish we’d had more time,” he told her. “But you’re gonna be okay. I promise, you will be.” 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, Peter—“ 

“And I want you to know I love you, okay? I love all of you,” he said. “Except your sister. She still freaks me out.” 

Gamora let out a desperate laugh. “Peter—“ 

“You have to take care of them,” he said. “Promise me.” 

She nodded, reaching down again to frame his face. “We love you, too,” she told him, before reaching down to gently kiss him. Then she buried her face in his neck and held on, just waiting. 

Peter waited too. And waited some more. 

But the dying part was taking its sweet time. 

He frowned when he realized he’d gone numb. The pain, and the strange hollow feeling, was dissipating and being replaced by a comforting warmth. “I thought it would hurt more,” he whispered. 

Gamora pulled back from him, frowning. “What—?” she started, and then her tear-clouded eyes widened. “Peter, you’re glowing.” 

“What?” he echoed, before lifting a hand. It was lit from within with a soft golden glow, and it was going all the way up his arm, and shining out through the hole in the front of his jacket. 

Gamora reached out, tugging his jacket halfway off and pulling at the hole in his shirt to reveal unmarked skin, glowing gold. “Peter,” she whispered. “What is happening?” 

“I have no idea,” he said, carefully sitting up when he realized there was no more pain at all. He ran a hand over his unmarked chest. He looked up at Gamora, giving her a troubled frown. “And after I gave like the best deathbed goodbye, ever, too. I almost feel cheated.” 

Gamora tightened her grip on his jacket and shook him angrily. “Don’t you do that to me!” she cried. “I thought you were dying!” 

“So did I!” he insisted, looking back at his hand as the glow started to fade, returning him back to normal, if miraculously healed. “Ego told me the light would die with him.” 

“Hey!” Rocket shouted, as he rushed over with Kraglin and Nebula on his heels. “What was with the light show?" He looked at Peter's torn shirt and scrunched up his face. "And what happened to your clothes?”

“We need to get him back to the ship,” Gamora said, standing quickly and then tugging Peter with her. 

“What about the injury? Who got hurt?” Rocket asked, looking over both his friends with badly concealed concern. “We brought the supplies.” 

“I’ll explain once we get back to the ship,” Gamora told them, pulling Peter close and dragging one of his arms over her shoulder. He may be healed but he still seemed unsteady, and she didn’t relish the thought of letting him out of her sight any time soon. “The guards will awake any moment.” 

Rocket jumped up on the rock behind them, glancing down at the unconscious guards with distaste. “That wouldn’t be a problem if you’d just used the grenades!” he called after his retreating friends.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: My memory is pretty awful, so apologies if little details vary from the movie. Once I have it on blu-ray I’ll probably watch it till I memorize all the lines, but for now I’m just going to let my imagination fill in the blanks.

“You’re seriously telling me he got hit head on by a Spinex gun?” Rocket shouted, before spinning back towards Peter. “How are you not melted into gooey humie puddle?” 

Peter sighed as his friends all watched him with varying degrees of concern and suspicion—ranging from extreme concern (Gamora and Groot), to extreme suspicion (Nebula), with a little fascination (Rocket) and mild interest (Drax) falling somewhere in between. Kraglin and Mantis were hovering somewhere out of sight, but he doubted either could be counted on to come to his aid. 

“I got lucky?” Peter tried. 

Gamora narrowed her eyes. “You were dead, Peter,” she insisted. “We both know that. No one could have recovered from that blast.” 

“Then Quill is not recovered?” Drax demanded, finally tuning in to the show. He had one arm bandaged due to a wound from a stray Yaka Arrow, and had been mostly ignoring them all because he was upset about having been left behind to guard the ship. Now he frowned, reaching out to grab at Peter’s jacket and tug it back to look at his skin. “But you are healed, Quill,” he stated with relief, before turning towards the others. “Gamora is mistaken. Quill could recover from it.” 

“Hey, hands off the merchandise,” Peter told him, tugging himself free and backing up further against the wall. “Look, I’m fine. And we got away, right? The Milano is docked back with the Elector, no one is chasing us. All and all, not a bad job. You know, if you ignore the part where we didn’t actually finish the job, or that the job wasn’t strictly legal in the first place, or that we’re not getting paid.” 

“You always gotta find a bright side, don’tcha?” Rocket snorted. “Well, guess what, the only bright side we’ve got right about now is that you’re not dead. That’s it. That’s the sum total of our accomplishments for today. Not being dead. Halle-freakin-lujah.” 

Peter rubbed at his chest and glanced down at Rocket resentfully. “That’s more than enough accomplishment for me, thanks,” he said. “I’m perfectly happy not being dead.” 

Rocket crossed his arms, and narrowed his eyes. “How’d you do it?” 

“I told you, I don’t know!” Peter insisted. “I’ve been hurt before, I always healed normal. I mean, mostly. Maybe a little faster than other Terrans, it's hard to remember for sure.”

“You do not really match descriptions of what I’ve heard about Terrans," Gamora admitted. "But those of Asgard are really the only ones to have any kind of contact, and they speak of them as if they were children.” 

“Right,” Peter said, running a hand through his hair with a wince. “And I guess being able to survive out in the vacuum for awhile isn’t exactly normal for humans either, but that’s it. Honest! I’ve never lit up like that before and just healed! I promise, I wasn’t hiding a super power. This is very, very new!” 

“Ego cut his finger once on a flower's thorn.” 

The voice was so quiet that Peter almost did not hear her. He frowned as Mantis stepped forward, her eyes skittering away from all of theirs. 

“He wanted everything to be so real. Authentic, he would say, and so he bled,” she explained. “Then he went bright all over, and when the glow faded he was healed.” 

“He did something to me,” Peter realized, and he barely had a moment to try to come to terms with that when he felt a sharp pain in his leg. 

“Sonavabitch!” Peter shouted, losing his balance and falling back against the wall. There was an old, narrow metal nail pressed about an inch and a half into the flesh of his leg. He looked down at Rocket incredulously. “Did you just _stab_ me?” 

Rocket shrugged, unrepentant. “I just wanna see what happens. Come on. Go glowy.” 

Peter reached down to pull out the nail, and glared at him. “Nothing’s gonna—“ he started, before trailing off as his veins seemed to light up beneath his skin, lending an otherworldly golden glow to his skin. He reached down to pull at the tiny hole in his pants, and though his skin was streaked with blood he couldn’t find a wound. “Holy shit. I’m Wolverine.” 

Rocket picked up the discarded nail, and then looked back at Peter speculatively. Gamora reached out and grabbed his tiny wrist before he could make any further move. “Hurt him again, and you will be dealing with me,” she promised. 

Groot, who was clinging to Rocket's neck, tugged angrily on his ear in agreement. "I am Groot!"

"Okay, okay," Rocket cried. "I wasn’t gonna! I wasn't, honest." He dropped the nail and then crossed his arms. He looked back to Peter. “What’s a Wolverine, anyway?” 

“It was a comic book, about this guy that could heal from anything,” Peter said. “And okay, so it’s a little freaky, but maybe we can use this to our advantage.” 

“No,” Gamora said. 

“No?” Peter echoed. “Just no? What does that even mean?” 

“It means we are taking you to the Nova Corps,” she said. 

“But I’m fine!” he insisted. “I’m better than fine, really. You’re basically trying to get me checked out for being _too_ healthy.” 

“I want you to get checked out because you should be _dead_ , Peter,” she said softly. “This isn't normal.”

“Or maybe it is,” Rocket said, ignoring the dark glare Gamora tossed his way. “Look, I’m just sayin’, it’s not like a planet’s ever gone and had a kid before. Just like there ain’t no other thing like me, there ain’t no other thing like him. Normal’s kinda hard to pin down.” 

“Ego had many children,” Mantis countered quietly. "But they could not touch the light. They came, and they tried, and then they burned, one by one." She looked down towards the floor. “Ego said they were not to be mourned, because they were mortal, and so not truly his. He said his true child could never die. His true child would embrace the light.” 

“He also said if I destroyed him I would become mortal,” Peter admitted. “So I’m not sure how much stock we can put in the things he said.” 

“Are you saying that you were willing to give up immortality for us?” Gamora asked quietly. “You never said.” 

“Who wants to live forever?” Peter shrugged, then flashed a grin. “Queen, 1987. Great song. Found it on my Zune.” 

“Peter, this is serious,” Gamora broke in sharply. “I know you have not wanted to speak of it, and we have respected that, but we can no longer afford to. You need to tell us exactly what your father told you.” 

Peter looked down at his hands, and tried not to remember how he felt when he first landed on his father’s planet. He tried not to remember the hope, and the belief, and just restate the facts. “He called me a battery,” he said after a moment. “He wanted to take over the universe, to override it like some kind of virus, but he wasn’t strong enough on his own. That’s why he needed me.” He looked up, smiling bitterly as he recalled the true motivation around his birth. “But he told me once we destroyed the core, I would lose the light. I would lose my immortality. I’d be human. Thing was, he thought it was threat. Which just goes to show how little he ever got to know me.” 

“There is something you have not considered,” Nebula said, her tight, sharp voice lending a sinister cast to her words. “What if he was telling the truth?” 

“The light is definitely not gone,” Peter pointed out. 

“Yes,” Nebula agreed. “And so maybe neither is he.” 

"Lovely thought," Peter deadpanned, "thanks for that."

"That your father has survived in some form or another is not something that should be dismissed," she stated firmly. "The fact that you did not have this power before you met him indicates his interference."

"Nebula is right, Peter," Gamora said. "He's done something to you, which is why we need to get you checked."

"Guys, I'm telling you, I'm fine!" he snapped, frustration started to build until he could almost feel it itching beneath his skin. "Why isn't anyone listening to me?!"

His friends all went quiet and stared at him with wide eyes. Which was a bit of an overreaction, honestly. Raising his voice may have been a little uncalled for, but it was also pretty much how they always dealt with each other.

"What?" he demanded impatiently.

"Peter," Gamora started hesitantly, "your hand..."

He turned to follow her gaze. He had one hand resting against the metal bulkhead, and it was glowing white hot, and melting right through the wall. He jerked his hand back in surprise, and it left behind a melted metal handprint.

He looked back at his glowing hand, and there was a small disk of light resting on his palm. It was not unlike the ball of light he had managed to create on Ego's planet, but it seemed hotter, and somehow more solid.

"What the hell," he cursed.

"Whatever you're doing, you have to stop it," Gamora told him worriedly, as she stepped closer.

"I don't know how to stop, because I don't know how I'm _doing_ it!" he said, before turning and throwing up his other hand to stop Gamora's progress. "Stay back! I don't want to hurt you."

"You have to calm down," she said worriedly. 

He knew that, but telling himself to calm down wasn't actually helping. He was just wondering if he'd have to take another spacewalk to cool down when a soft hand appeared out of nowhere, and pressed to his forehead. "Sleep," a small voice commanded, and he dropped to the floor like a stone.

"What did you do?" Gamora cried, rushing forward to drop at Peter's side. The light Peter had been holding had fizzled out and disappeared, his hand uncurling to reveal an empty palm. She glanced up at Mantis in worry.

"I have helped him sleep," she said, frowning slightly as she concentrated. "But something is very wrong with him."

"What was your first clue?" Rocket snapped. 

Gamora hesitantly reached out to touch him. He was warmer than usual, but thankfully no longer burning hot enough to melt through their ship.

"Do you know what's happening to him?" she asked, looking back up at Mantis.

Mantis shook her head. "He was the first to make the light. The others, they..." she trailed off and Gamora didn't press for details. They all knew how the others had fared.

Rocket knelt down beside Gamora. "Quill said Ego called him a battery. So he had to have his own source of power, or he couldn’t have increased Ego’s power. It’s simple arithmetication.” 

“What are you saying?" Gamora asked.

“I’m saying Ego was definitely lying when he told Quill he’d lose his light if he destroyed him, it was a bluff. He apparently thought our fearless leader put more value on his life than he actually does,” he snorted. “But look, when we destroyed the core, we cut that light off from its source—and all that power didn’t just disappear. It went somewhere.” 

“Peter,” Gamaro breathed. “It went into Peter?” 

“That would be my guess,” Rocket said. “The fact that he’s started lighting up like a Truvian Glowfly whenever he gets hurt certainly seems to support it. And as much as it physically pains me to admit it, your wacked-out sister might have actually been onto something. There may be some remnant of Ego left, and if there is, it’s in Quill.” 

Nebula glared back at Rocket, but nodded. "The rodent is correct," she agreed reluctantly.

Rocket started towards her angrily, opening his mouth to yell back, but was forestalled by Gamora's gentle grip on his arm.

"Rocket, if that's true, what does it mean for Peter?" she asked.

Rocket's anger wilted and he gave a sigh. "How should I know? Ego might not have actually been a god, but he's a hell of a lot closer than anything else I've ever seen. Quill might only be half, but there's no telling what he might actually be capable of given enough power."

"But this power was not meant for him," Mantis said quietly. 

Gamora turned to look at her, narrowing her eyes when she saw that Mantis was shaking. Her always anxious eyes had at some point verged closer to something like terror. "If you know something," Gamora said firmly, "you need to tell us."

"He feels different than before, his emotions, his mind," Mantis began haltingly, the uncertainty in her voice lending it a wispy, whimsical tone. "Before Peter was warmth and love and laughter. Now there is burning, such angry burning." She looked back at Peter warily. "It felt like Ego felt, but without his focus, all was scattered. The thoughts had no direction. And beneath it all there was something else. Something new. Something I never felt before with either of them."

"Well, that's not at all ominous," Nebula said dryly.

"What are we gonna do with 'em?" Kraglin asked nervously, finally risking to take a few steps closer. He hesitantly reached out to nudge Peter with his foot, but Gamora caught it, glaring at him. 

"We are going to help him," she said, pushing his foot back and nearly sending him to the ground. "We take him to the Nova Corps as planned."

“Then that's my cue to leave," Nebula said.

Gamora glanced over at her, realizing the truth of it. Gamora may have forgiven her sister, but she was still a war criminal as far as the Nova Corps were concerned. "Take this one with you," she said, nodding towards Kraglin. "You can take the Elector. We'll take the Milano."

"You wanna take the Milano all the way to Xandar?" Rocket cried. "I've barely got this thing cobbled together well enough that it's not leaking atmosphere."

"Which is why we will take it to Xandar," Gamora said patiently. "They will have the parts to fix it, and we only have to make two jumps." She looked over to Drax then. “Drax, I think you should stay with Nebula and Kraglin. We need someone level-headed to stay with them. Unfortunately, we don’t have anyone like that, so it’ll have to be you.” 

"I do not think we should divide our forces," Drax answered with a concerned frown. "We should all go together."

“The fewer of us that go back to Xandar the better,” Gamora said with a shake of her head. “I need Rocket to fly and keep the ship running, and Mantis in case we need to put Peter to sleep again. But we don’t know what’s wrong with Peter, and there’s no reason to risk anyone else.” 

“I am Groot!” Groot yelled anxiously, narrowing his eyes at Gamora. He had jumped off Rocket and was standing beside him. 

Gamora’s gaze softened as she looked over at him, a little closer to eye level than usual as she sat beside Peter. “Groot, I want you to go with Drax until we come back. He will take care of you.” 

Groot shot Drax a look of disdain that looked more comical than anything, when framed within his tiny adorable face. “ _I am Groot_.” 

“Yeah, that means no,” Rocket told them. 

Gamora sighed. “Groot, please, Peter isn’t safe to be around right now. If anything happened to you, he’d never forgive himself…” 

“I am Groot!” he yelled, as he took off running towards the cockpit like he was charging off into battle. 

Rocket leaned forward to watch him go. “Once he gets in there, there’s about a dozen places he can hide,” he shrugged. “Way I see it we either spend the next five hours trying to rasle him, or we just head out.” 

Gamora turned back to Drax, Nebula and Kraglin. "Groot will stay with us," she sighed. "We will need a rendezvous point."

"I have some contacts on Drexis Three," Nebula offered. "We can lay low here, try to acquire some supplies."

"Nebula," Gamora started. "I know you want to go after Thanos--"

"I made you a deal," she said, as she crouched down beside Gamora. "Once I get enough credits to repair the Ravenger's other M-ship, I'm gone. But I would not steal from you. I will not leave with something I have not earned."

Gamora nodded, knowing her sister would keep her word. If nothing else, Thanos had taught his daughters that nothing came for free.

Nebula looked down at Peter then, her empty black eyes running over him from one end to the other. “You care for him, don't you?" 

"He has been risking his life for mine almost since we met, without anything to truly gain from it. He plays the rogue, but it is an act," she explained fondly. It had taken her awhile to realize that Peter's words did not always match up to his actions. He might complain about doing the right thing, but it was always while he was right smack dab in the middle of doing the right thing.

"He is a fool, and whether or not he's truly immortal, he is heading for destruction of one kind or another. You would be a fool, too, to get attached,” Nebula warned her. “Thanos taught us better."

"Perhaps his lessons are best unlearned,” Gamora told her. "Peter will be fine. We won't settle for anything else."

"It is too bad we never had such faith in each other." Nebula's dark eyes went flat, and she got back to her feet. "If you're not back in two standard weeks, we will come to find you."

"Nebula--" she began, but her sister was already gone, with the others trailing behind her. Gamora returned her attention to Peter. She placed her hand against his cheek, frowning when she felt the heat still rising from his skin. 

She recalled her promise on Drexis Five that they would fix him, and then that horrible moment when she lost hope and accepted he was lost. For however brief a moment, she had given in.

She would not make that same mistake again.


	3. 3

When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was laid out on a wide expanse of lush, green grass. Peter blinked for a moment, trying to remember how he had gotten here. Small bubbles of light glided across the air above him, reflecting off all the edges of the world around him, capturing tiny images of wide mountain ranges and crystal clear pools of water. 

The idyllic scene should have been calming, but it caused a spike of fear straight through Peter’s heart that had him scrambling to his feet. 

Because this was Ego’s world. Was his escape a dream? Was he—

“‘Bout time you stopped by to visit your old man, boy,” a voice snorted. “Was startin’ to think I saved your scrawny ass for nothin’.” 

Peter spun in disbelief, and Yondu stood watching him calmly. A grin played around his lips, setting off tiny flashes of sunlight as it caught against a golden tooth. “Yondu?” he whispered faintly. 

“Not exactly,” the man laughed. “You went and burned up what was left of ‘im in your engine, boy. I know he were one of the best, but ain’t no one coming back from that.” 

Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he rushed forward. He grabbed the edges of the too-familiar leather coat, and slammed the man into the trunk of a tree. “You’re Ego,” he snarled. “Is this some kind of sick joke, looking like him? Are you that much of a coward?” 

“I may not be your Yondu, but I ain’t Ego, either, not exactly,” the man responded. He leaned back against the tree as though it was his idea to back up against it, and the look in his eyes, the mirth hiding just behind them, had Peter releasing him and stumbling away. He was a perfect copy of Yondu, down to the bristled hairs scattered across his chin. 

“What are you?” Peter demanded. 

“We’re what’s left,” he shrugged. “You destroyed Ego’s core, and that took his consciousness, most of his memory. We were left scattered across the remains of his world, abandoned. We needed a new core, and there was only you and this one—“ the man smirked, and waved a hand down himself. “You already had a power of your own, so we went into him, but we couldn’t sustain his body’s functions. We didn’t have time, and we couldn’t survive long in a mortal long anyway.” 

“So you went and hijacked my body next, huh? Well, I want you to get the hell out of me,” Peter said firmly, glaring at the figure, and lifting a hand to point at him angrily. “And stop looking like him.” 

"It ain't that simple, we're as much you now as we ever were Ego,” he explained, spreading out his arms wide and giving a shit-eating grin that was so like Yondu it made Peter’s heart ache. “As for our appearance, well, it’s really all we know. We needed a new template for thought when you destroyed our core, so we copied his."

Yondu’s form shimmered and then flashed white. When the light faded, it left behind a perfect replica of Peter Quill in its place. The only difference between him and it was that it was dressed head to toe in white clothes that otherwise mirrored his own, and there were tiny little purple galaxies where his eyes should be. “Or I could appear like this, if you prefer?” 

“Don’t—“ Peter started, because looking at that vacant imitation of himself was even more terrifying than seeing Yondu risen from the dead. At least he could take some comfort, however hollow, in seeing Yondu’s image. His own left him feeling cold. 

The light smirked back at him with his own face, and then flashed white again, returning him to Yondu’s form. “Yeah, I thought so. I remember that much,” the light said, tapping a finger at his head and then pointing it at Peter. “You’re still lookin’ for daddy, ain’t that right? And ya finally decided to settle for the one you always had. We could be a team, you and I. You could have him back.” 

“You aren’t him,” Peter said firmly. 

“Hell, boy, maybe not, but I’m as close as you’re ever gonna get,” he said. 

“It’s not close enough. You’re a fake. Fake-Yondu. You’re a Fondu!” Peter shouted triumphantly. “I don’t know what the hell you really are, but I’m sure of one thing. I’m gonna find a way to get you the hell out of me.” 

“Boy, I _am_ you,” he laughed. “There ain’t no gettin’ rid of me, without gettin’ rid of you. We’re a team now, whether you like it or not. We’re more family than you and that little band of misfits could ever be.” 

“Yeah, well, that little band of misfits and I have already taken out one Celestial, another shouldn't be a problem," Peter said. "We always find a way.” 

“Those losers?” Fondu crossed his arms and fell back against the tree. “You still don’t get it, do you? You’re a timebomb. You think your friends are gonna wanna keep you around when they realize you could go supernova any time? You’re on your way to becoming an honest-to-God _God_ , and there ain’t no way to take ‘em with you. They’ll be withered and old before long, while you’ll still be a little wee baby Celestial.” 

“You're wrong, there is no me without them, not anymore," Peter said, frowning as he glanced around. Ego’s planet was destroyed, even Fondu admitted that, which meant this place wasn’t real. “Mantis, she put me to sleep. Oh please just let this be some nightmare. Next time, I’m gonna ask her to give me pleasant dreams, like maybe with Gamora and those twins from—“ 

Peter broke off as Fondu grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, shaking him and pulling him back around to face him. “We may not be physically standing on this here world, but don’t fool yourself into thinking this ain’t real,” Fondu snapped. “You need to stop fighting the blending.” 

“The blending,” Peter echoed, as he stumbled back, prying the cold blue fingers off his collar. “You’re trying to infect me.” 

“You got it all wrong, boyo,” Fondu said, with a shake of his head. “I’m trying to _protect_ you. See, Ego got it wrong, too. He thought we couldn’t live without him, but the truth always was he couldn’t live without _us_. And when it came down to it, in your little showdown, we choose a side, and it wasn’t his. Now we’re the last of our kind. We don’t stick together, and we’re both gonna be lost.” 

“Yeah, well, you know how we beat Ego?” Peter asked, as he glanced to the side. The mountain ranges were beautiful, but haunting, and his heart longed for the closed, tight spaces of the Milano. “He didn’t understand me. He got his threats and his promises all mixed up. It’s not myself I’m trying to protect.” 

“You really want to keep your little friends that much?” Fondu laughed. “Well, hell, we can probably work something out. Ego wanted to cleanse the galaxy, but together, maybe we can _save it_.” 

The world went white around him, and when it returned Peter was sitting on a throne in his father’s palace. He glanced down and saw he was wearing some kind of formal wear—he was a little worried it may have been copied from his memories of Prince Charming from _Sleeping Beauty_. He glanced to his side and Gamora was sat in a throne beside him, a delicate diadem sitting on her head, and a dark, shimmering gown falling just below her shoulders. 

“Peter, isn’t it beautiful?” she asked. 

He turned to follow her gaze and saw all his friends, and the remains of the Ravengers, eating and feasting on a world too perfect to be trusted. He could feel what it would be like there: no pain, no fear, no fighting. 

No free will. 

“You can rule them all,” Fondu told him sweetly, as he stalked around him behind the throne. “We could rule them together. Nothing could hurt you. Nothing could hurt them.” 

“Yeah, see, it’s temping, but I never much wanted to rule the galaxy,” Peter shrugged, standing and turning his back on the vision. “Don’t really like the hours.” 

Fondu’s smirk disappeared, and his eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to change what you are,” he snapped.

“Watch me,” Peter told him, and the world around them dissolved.

* * * * * 

Peter woke up with a gasp, sucking in air and clawing at the sheets. He rolled and nearly fell off his bunk, steadied at the last moment by a hand on his back. 

“Peter?” 

He turned to the side and saw Gamora sitting on the floor beside the bed, looking concerned. He let out another breath, and then let his head fall back on his pillow. “We really need to have a talk with Mantis, she gave me some really weird ass dreams,” Peter told her, wincing as he pressed the heel of one hand against his forehead.

“I did not give you any dreams,” Mantis said quietly. 

Peter looked up to see her standing awkwardly in the doorway to his room. She glanced away guiltily. “You were burning,” she explained. “I could not hold on long enough to do anything but make you to sleep.” 

He swallowed hard, something tickling at the back of his mind that his conversation with the Fondu wasn’t necessarily dreamed up by his subconscious. He considered trying to explain it to them, but they didn’t need to think he was losing control of his mind as well as his body. He glanced away again. “How long was I out?” 

“Long enough that we’re just minutes from Xandar,” she said. 

“Xandar?” he demanded, pushing himself up. “Gamora, I told you we can’t go there. One of my father’s pod things, it was on Xandar. They’re not gonna—“ 

“Peter, I already spoke to Denarian Dey,” Gamora told him gently. “They understand what happened. They wish to help.” 

Peter leaned forward, letting his head rest in his hands. Gamora reached out and placed a hand on his knee. “This is a bad idea," he told her.

“You can say it as much as you like, but you’re not fine, Peter,” Gamora told him firmly. “They may be able to help, and there isn’t anywhere else we can go. Rocket and I are still wanted fugitives in most of the galaxy, and while I would risk it if we knew someone that could help…we don’t even know what’s wrong.” 

“You upset him,” Mantis said. 

“What?” Gamora asked, turning to Peter in worry. “Peter—“ 

“I’m not upset,” he protested, looking up at Mantis with a frown. 

“Not now, before, that was what was wrong,” Mantis explained. “He grew upset, and he lost control of his powers. We should keep him calm. I could help.” 

She stepped forward and Peter flinched back from her, sliding until he hit the wall behind him. Gamora spread herself out in front of him protectively. “It is fine, Mantis,” she said. “Peter is okay for now. Why don’t you go see if Groot has come out of hiding yet. We want to get him strapped in before we land.” 

Mantis nodded, and then scurried away. Peter relaxed when she was gone, but still didn’t turn back to face Gamora. “Do you really think they can help?” he asked her. “They didn’t recognize what my father was the first time.” 

“We have more information now,” Gamora explained. “Rocket has a theory. He thinks the light, that power of your father’s, it may have gone into you.” 

Peter sucked in a startled breath. “Good guess,” he said softly, his mind going back to review his conversation with the imaginary Yondu. He should have known he wasn’t lucky enough for it to have been a simple dream. 

“Do you know something?” Gamora demanded. She reached out and gently cupped his chin, turning him back to face her. 

“Just that since I got hit by that blast on Drexis Five, I’ve felt…” he trailed off. The end of the sentence was ‘out of control,’ but Gamora was the last one he wanted to admit it to. He knew she would be supportive, but that wasn’t the point. He was supposed to be the leader, and he’d been failing at that for awhile now. "Well, I've just felt wrong."

“We are going to find out what happened,” she promised him. “Then we will do whatever is needed.” 

Peter recalled that vision of Gamora, sat beside him on a throne. It should have been something he wanted, a perfect future, but he knew it was an illusion. It was strange because in the Ravengers all they ever did was search for the next big score, but Peter had never much been great at doing anything with the scores they got. He’d get his credits and turn around and put it back into his ship. He was happier here on this ship with his team than he ever really had been on Ego’s world, for all its luxury. Maybe it was the memory of his encounter with the infinity stone, but power didn’t hold any appeal for him. 

It wasn’t tempting. It was terrifying. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

“We’re heading down,” Rocket’s voice announced over the comms. “Our aft thrusters are still a bit dodgy and the dampeners are all but fried, so you may want to hold onto something.” 

The warning was a little late, and Peter would have gone flying if Gamora hadn’t thrown herself on top of him, reaching behind him to grip onto a handle bar and keep them both secure against the wall. It apparently didn't matter to her that Peter was sort of invincible at the moment. 

"Thanks,” he said awkwardly. He looked back at Gamora’s eyes, and was surprised to find her staring right back at him. 

They’d all come a long way from that first shaky alliance they’d built within the Kyln. None of them were much for touch, though Peter probably more than the rest of them put together. But sometime between sharing the power of the stone and settling down to become roommates in a ship meant for only three, touching each other just became the status quo. 

“Any time, Star-Lord,” Gamora told him, only letting go and allowing him to move again when they felt the jarring bump of the Milano hitting the ground.

* * * * * 

Gamora had explained that the team had split up so that Drax, Nebula and Kraglin could try and get their hands on some supplies while they went to Xandar, but Peter wasn’t going to worry about that at the moment. He had enough to worry about without wondering if Gamora’s psychotic sister was going to murder his friends. 

At least Gamora had agreed to leave him alone long enough to clean himself up a bit. He stripped out of the tattered remains of his favorite jacket and ruined shirt, and quickly washed off all the dried and flaking blood left behind on his skin. He pulled on a black t-shirt and the plain brown leather jacket he kept around for planets where he didn’t want to be associated with the Ravengers. 

He was barely finished dressing before Gamora was back, ushering him bossily towards the exit. He didn’t know what kind of greeting he had been expecting, maybe just a smiling Dey and a couple guards, but instead they stepped out to be met with the Nova Prime herself. 

She stood flanked by three guards on either side. Peter had Gamora at his own side, with Rocket and Groot trailing behind. They had all agreed that Mantis should remain with the ship. She was too unfamiliar with these worlds to travel on her own, and leaving her in the care of Rocket seemed like asking for trouble. 

“Guardians,” the Nova greeted, bowing her head to them.

It was quite in contrast to the last time he’d visited Xandar before taking down Ronan. For some reason, it set him on edge. Usually, he’d bask in being treated like a returning hero, but at the moment he felt like an imposter. Gamora sensed his unease, and seamlessly stepped ahead of him. 

“Nova Prime,” she greeted graciously. “It is good to see you again. I wish it could be under better circumstances.” 

The Nova pursed her lips and gave a tight nod. “Yes, Denarian Dey briefed me about your role in stopping the plague that was consuming our world. Thankfully, it was halted before we could suffer more casualties. We were able to evacuate most of the city, and it seems we are in your debt yet again.” 

“That’s why we’re here,” Gamora explained. “We need a favor.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, of course,” the Nova said quickly, casting a strange look at Peter. She motioned for them to follow her. “We have a medical bay already prepped.” 

The Nova Prime led the way to a nearby building, and with a flick of her wrist, signaled for four of the guards’ dismissal. The other two took up guard at the door without needing to be told, but didn’t follow her in. The guards let Gamora and Peter through, and then stepped to the side to block the way of the others. 

“Hey!” Rocket snapped, as they refused to move. "We’re with them, buddy!” 

“I am Groot!” Groot agreed, his little eyes narrowing in irritation. 

“The equipment in here is very sensitive,” Nova began delicately. “Perhaps…” 

“Understood,” Gamora said, before turning towards Rocket and Groot. “Rocket, we need you and Groot to wait here.” 

“What did we even come for, then?” Rocket grumbled. “Don’t you want a second opinion?” The guard shut the door even as Rocket continued to complain. “Hey, I was talkin’—“ 

The Nova Prime seemed unconcerned with Rocket’s complaints, and moved to one of the consoles without even glancing back towards the doors. “Up on the table, please, Mr. Quill,” she said. 

He glanced around, surprised to find no doctors. “Uh—“ 

“I’m fully qualified to run a scan, I assure you,” she said wryly. 

“Yeah, but why?” he asked. “Don’t you have people for that?” 

“Unfortunately, the Nova Corps has been a little short staffed of late,” she said, her curt voice softening at Peter’s guilty expression. “But more than that, I simply wish to keep this confidential. Denarian Dey will be fully briefed of course, but I have asked him to give the information to no one else. Until we know what we’re dealing with, I think it’s best we keep this to ourselves.” 

She turned to Gamora then. “In fact, Ms. Gamora, if you wouldn’t mind, I think—“

“I’m staying with Peter,” she responded, her voice emphasizing a simple statement of fact.

“Of course,” Nova said, smiling slightly. “Mr. Quill, you’re still not on the table.” 

“Oh, right,” Peter said, reluctantly hopping up on the blue table. 

“And lie down please,” she told him, without looking up from the controls. 

Peter laid down reluctantly. Gamora stepped up to his side and smiled slightly, probably trying for reassurance, but really the fact that she was trying to reassure him at all was just stressing him out even more. He tried to calm himself down as he relaxed against the table, because the last thing he needed was to start lighting up again. 

“Do try not to move,” Nova told him, apparently not a big believer in bedside manners. She worked at the controls and then a thin blue line moved from his feet to his head, and a scan of his body appeared promptly in the air right above him. 

“Okay, that’s kinda trippy,” Peter said. The scan looked similar to the last one they had taken of him, but this one seemed to have more bright spots. He wondered if this one was a new display. 

The Nova stepped away from the console and approached the scan, her expression frozen. “Mr. Quill,” she said. “Perhaps you should explain what exactly your father was.” 

“He called himself a Celestial,” Peter said, turning his head to look at her. Unprompted, Gamora reached out and grasped his other hand. He held it back. “I don’t really know much else, except that he built a planet around himself. Which, you know. That’s sort of weird.” 

“Gamora said you destroyed his core,” she said, moving back to the console. “What did that look like?” 

“It sort of looked like a giant brain?” he said. “Can I move now?” 

“No,” she answered, already distracted by another console. “Well, that would certainly explain these scans.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Gamora asked tightly. 

Nova tapped a few keys and the scan above Peter flickered out, replaced by two side-by-side vertical scans. “The scan on the left is the scan we took after you stopped Ronan. The scan on the right is the scan we took just now.” 

Peter sat up and Gamora stepped up right beside them. The energy readings on the first scan looked pretty normal, it fit with most scans Peter had seen of any given species. It was a little brighter than normal, maybe, pinging energy signatures the scan didn’t quite know how to process, but that was it. 

The second scan was another story. They could see a cluster of unrecognized energy gathered right inside his brain, trailing all along the brain stem, down far enough it spread a foot along his spine. “Crap,” Peter said. 

“The new energy seems localized in your brain,” Nova said, unnecessarily. 

“That does not sound good,” Gamora said worriedly. 

“It is...concerning,” the Nova agreed. “From what you’ve told me, I’m afraid I cannot offer much more than speculation at this point. But it seems to me that there are two likely outcomes to something of this nature. This energy will either rewrite your genetic code to suit its needs, creating a kind of symbiosis, or it will simply…burn you out.” 

“That sounds pretty specific for speculation,” Peter pointed out. 

“This drastic of a change to anyone’s brain chemistry, it’s just not sustainable. I’m afraid the few outcomes I can think of do not bode well,” Nova admitted. She looked at Peter with something that was part-pity, and part-awe. “That it will change you seems unavoidable. Into what…I can’t be certain.” 

“Yes, you are, you think I’m going to become like _him_ ,” Peter realized. He jumped off the table in agitation. “I am _nothing_ like him.” 

Gamora slid across the table to join him, taking his arm in a way that was more reassuring than restraining. "Calm down," she whispered in warning.

“No one is meant to have the kind of power you have currently,” Nova told him, and what she carefully wasn’t mentioning was the type of terror caused by those that did. Celestials weren’t generally known for being kind. “There isn’t a precedent for this. I’m afraid there’s no telling what it may do to you.” 

“There must be something we can do,” Gamora insisted. 

The Nova looked away in thought. “If there were a way to siphon this power out,” she started thoughtfully, “it may reverse the effects. I don’t know what might have the power to do such a thing, but I am certainly not suggesting we give up."

“It sounds a little like you are,” Gamora snapped. “We came here because we thought you could help.” 

“There is....well, I do have something that may at least slow the process,” Nova offered carefully. “Mr. Quill, if you would please come here.” 

Peter stepped forward and Gamora reluctantly released her death-grip on his arm. “I’m pretty much willing to try anything at this point,” he told her. It seemed pretty certain by this point that his dream had actually been a conversation with the power that was invading him, as the Fondu’s story was getting verified by both Nova and Rocket. The thought of that light changing him again, of taking him over the way it had beneath his father’s palace, was basically his worst nightmare. “Actually, no, I’m literally willing to do anything.” 

“Peter,” Gamora warned anxiously. 

“I’m afraid it may hurt,” the Nova warned. 

“I’m used to that,” Peter shrugged. “Do your worst.” 

The Nova Prime pulled out a case from beneath the table, and Gamora was getting a bad feeling about this. It seemed planned, for it to have already been sitting there. “Maybe we should take a few more scans before we make any rash decisions,” she started. 

Peter flexed his hand, and looked down at it in concern. He could still feel that power under his skin, now that he knew it was there. “I’m not sure we have that kind of time.” 

“I’m afraid I must agree. I am sorry, Mr. Quill,” Nova told Peter, as she pulled two silver bands from the case. “I wish there were another way.” 

“Hey, wait,” Gamora snapped. She pushed back towards them, but by the time she reached Peter it was already too late. 

The thick, silver cuffs had each been latched around one of his wrists, and they were thrumming with energy that sent Peter crashing to his knees with a scream. Peter leaned forward until his forehead pressed against the ground, panting heavily, and Gamora dropped down beside him, before glaring up at the Nova. “What the hell are these?” she demanded. 

“They are energy-field bracelets,” the Nova explained, watching Peter struggle at her feet with a strange, sad, expression. “We use them to neutralize criminals with special abilities. It creates a feedback loop if they try to generate any release of energy. It should prevent any further episodes like what happened with your ship.” 

“I’m okay,” Peter rasped out, letting Gamora help him sit back up. “Really, just sort of caught me off guard. Maybe a little more warning next time, huh? And maybe change ‘it may hurt’ to ‘it will be excruciatingly painful.’” He fell tiredly against Gamora. “But seriously. Ow.” 

“I thought perhaps it might be better if we just did it quickly,” Nova said with a sigh. “I’m afraid there’s no good way to put those on. They are a last resort, and rarely used, but we simply are not equipped to deal with a power like yours.” 

“If they are usually for prisoners, how do they come off?” Gamora asked, looking up at the Nova with narrowed eyes. 

“It does take a special key,” Nova admitted. “We store them separately, for security.” 

“As we are not prisoners, we would like one stored with us,” she said firmly. 

“Yes, of course, I will bring one to you at once,” Nova said. She paused at the door, looking back at Peter. "I am sorry this has happened to you, Mr. Quill. You must understand how truly grateful we are to both of you. I wish there was more we could do to help.” 

Gamora turned back to Peter as the Nova Prime left. “I don’t like this,” she said at once, reaching out to gently trace her fingers across the bracelets. 

“You’re the one that wanted to come here,” he reminded her wryly. 

She pursed her lips. “Peter—“ 

He sighed and twisted his wrist, catching her trailing hand in his own. “Gamora, it’s fine,” he told her. “I think…I think these things maybe aren’t such a bad idea.” 

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked softly. 

“Just…I think the Nova is right,” Peter said. “I think I’m changing, and I do not want to become my father. I don’t want to be what he wanted me to be.” 

“That would never happen,” Gamora assured him. “Peter, you gave up eternity for us. You are nothing like him.” 

“Maybe not yet,” he said. 

“Maybe not ever, not if we have anything to say about it,” Gamora said. “And we do. Particularly Rocket. He rarely stops having things to say.”

Peter smiled slightly. “You made a joke,” he said. “Was that a first?” 

“I don’t think it counts as joke when it’s true,” Gamora said, before gently reaching out to pull one of his arms in her lap. She looked at the bracelet with a frown. “Maybe next time check with me before agreeing to something like this? Does it still hurt?” 

“No, not really,” he said with a shrug. “Now it just feels weird. I feel kind of hot.” 

She reached out and placed a hand on his forehead. “You do feel warm,” she said in concern. “Let’s get you up off the floor.” 

She stood and pulled him with her, and he fell tiredly back against the table. “Maybe once we get the key to these things, we should hightail it,” he suggested. “It doesn’t sound like they have any brilliant ideas at the moment, and I don’t think we want to leave Drax and your crazy sister alone too long.” 

“Kraglin is with them,” Gamora pointed out. 

“Yeah, and giving Kraglin the Yaka Arrow probably wasn’t my best idea ever,” Peter said. “I’d like to get back to them before they all kill each other.” 

“Good point,” Gamora said, before glancing back at the door. "I don’t want to leave you alone, but we really should probably check on Rocket too, before he starts building a bomb.” 

“Come on, be realistic,” Peter snorted. “He’s built at least three of them by now.” 

“Will you be alright for a moment?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I think I can manage for five minutes,” he said with a roll of his eyes. 

“I left you alone for five minutes on Riebus—“ Gamora started. 

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault—“ 

“—and when I came back, you were in a three-way stand off with Rocket and the owner of a _toy shop_.” 

“Again, not my fault! Actually, it was Rocket’s fault, so maybe it’s him you should be going to check on,” he said. 

“I’m not sure I can argue with that,” Gamora sighed, before turning on her heel. “Fine. I’ll be right back.” 

She reached the door, but didn’t step out. Peter leaned forward with a frown when he heard her muttering to herself, what sounded like: _traitorous, duplicitous…._

“Gamora?” Peter asked. “What is it?” 

“The door is locked,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes as she ran her fingers over the lock. She slammed a hand in irritation against the door, and then turned back to look at Peter, her lips pursed. “I don’t think she’s coming back with that key.” 

Peter dropped back onto the table with a sigh. “This is the last time I’m letting you talk me into going somewhere, I hope you know that,” he told her. “The absolute last time.” 

Gamora fell back against the door. “That’s fair,” she said.


	4. 4

Rocket was bored, and being bored meant he had time to worry about a certain stupid pain in the ass part-Terran, which wasn't really acceptable. He could worry about Groot, because who wouldn't worry about Groot? But that freakin' Celestial humie could certainly take care of himself, admittedly with varying degrees of success, and by all accounts would be outliving them all. 

Rocket sighed as he stuck his latest project back into his purse. Quill had bought it for him a couple months back, insisting it was a knapsack. Rocket wanted to mock him more for it, but it ended up being too useful, so now he couldn’t even make fun of Quill’s purse anymore. He was pretty sure that had been Quill’s plan all along. 

He frowned as he glanced back at the still closed door. Rocket and Groot had been unceremoniously escorted to the small waiting room after Quill and Gamora had disappeared with the Nova, and he was losing his patience. "How long does it take to do a simple body scan?" he complained.

He sat up when there was no immediate 'I am Groot' response to his question, and felt a sharp prick of fear when he realized he was alone.

And so now he was back to worrying about Groot, which was normal, and also never boring.

"Groot," he whispered harshly. The door was still closed, no way he could have gotten through it without alerting him. He leaned forward, his head hanging upside down as he checked beneath his chair. "We talked about running off! Groot!"

"I am Groot," a muffled little voice called back to him.

"Groot! Where are you?" he demanded. 

"I am Groot," he called back.

"You're in the wall? Why are you in the wall?" Rocket followed along the wall, heading towards the sound of Groot's voice. He stopped when he reached a ventilation shaft. It had three inch vertical slats covering it, and one of them had been pushed all the way open so Groot could squeeze through.

He leaned down and Groot stared back at him with large worried eyes.

"What's the matter with you? Why are you hiding in there?" he asked with a frown.

"I am Groot!" he insisted.

"Whaddaya mean the Nova Corps are up to something? Xandarians love us," he said. "I mean, we're two time Galaxy savers. I'm pretty sure we actually hold some kind of record for galaxy saving."

"I am Groot!" Groot cried, as he reached out and wrapped vines around Rocket's wrist, using the grip to tug him forward. 

Rocket fell hard against the vent slats. "Hey, watch it! I can't fit in there!"

"I am Groot!" Groot yelled urgently, which basically translated to, _I'm sure you have something in your purse that can remove this grate_.

In fact, Rocket did, though he scowled. "Okay okay, I'm coming," he said, as he pulled out a universal wrench and loosened the bolts, before swiftly and quietly tugging it from the wall. "Sheesh, you've gotten bossier, you know. I don't think Quill's a good influence on you."

"I am Groot!" Groot yelled.

"I know I don't listen to him either, that's not the point!" Rocket snapped.

Rocket slipped inside and then tugged the grate back into place behind him, reaching through the open slat with his wrench to retighten the screws. Usually he would have blasted through the thing and left chaos behind him without bothering to cover his tracks, but Quill had rubbed off on him bit, and he’d gotten fond of the idea of sneaking in and out of places without anyone knowing where he’d been. 

Not all of the team had been pleased by the presence of this new skill in Rocket's already vast repertoire.

He turned around after he finished to find Groot already all the way down at the next corner of the small shaft, waving him forward frantically. Rocket frowned and steadied his knapsack on his back, before rushing forward to catch up. “What is it?” he whispered impatiently. 

Groot didn’t answer, but took the turns like he knew where he was going. Rocket wondered just how long he’d been wandering around in here without him noticing, and decided he probably should keep a closer eye on him. The most trouble Groot used to get into was drinking from a public fountain, but this miniature version of his best friend was always slipping into places that he wasn’t supposed to be. Rocket was starting to worry they were going to ruin him: the Guardians may seem like good role models from afar, heroes of the galaxy that they were, but up close they were kind of a mess. 

Groot was already learning to fight from Gamora and Drax, learning to tinker from him, and learning to pickpocket from Quill. At least Mantis seemed determined to share in the wonder of the world with him instead of corrupting him, and the two of them would sit together at the view ports for hours, just watching the passing stars. 

“I am Groot!” Groot whispered angrily, before kicking Rocket in the foot. 

“I am too paying attention!” Rocket whispered back with a frown, before glancing up where Groot was pointing. He squinted and stepped forward, leaning to look out another grate. The slats were nearly shut, but tilted slightly up so he could just make out the figures in the room on the other side. 

He recognized two of the Xandarians at once. Denarian Dey and the Nova Prime herself. The rest seemed to be guards, except for one that was wearing white instead of blue. A scientist or med tech, most likely. Rocket felt the hairs on his back start to raise, and Groot leaned next to him, his own little eyes narrowed angrily. Rocket realized he must have already caught the beginning of the discussion, and from the way his friend was vibrating with anger and worry, it didn’t seem like it had been anything good. 

“—seems harmless,” Dey was insisting earnestly. “I don’t see why we need to—“ 

“Peter Quill seemed fairly harmless once, too,” Nova interrupted. “But rather apart from being the petty thief with a conscience that we had taken him for, it turns out he’s the demigod son of an ancient Celestial god. We can’t take any chances.” 

“We don’t even know how long she’s been with them,” Dey pointed out. “She came in when we searched the Milano without a fight.” 

Rocket glared in at them, realizing they were talking about Mantis. The bastards had picked her up, and for what? They’d been docked legally, and none of them had warrants on Xandar anymore. This was supposed to be the one place in the galaxy they got treated like citizens instead of criminals. 

“Can I just say again that I think—“ Dey began. 

“We are all well aware of your feelings on the matter, Denarian,” Nova Prime interrupted. “I can sympathize. I’m not happy about it either.” 

“With all due respect, we’re talking about locking up the Guardians of the Galaxy, ma’am, I think it warrants further discussion,” he continued regardless. “They came to us for help. They came here on _my word_ that we would help them.” 

“We are helping them,” Nova assured him. “The amount of Celestial energy that Quill has absorbed…left unchecked, we could be facing a new super power.” She looked away, her eyes going distant. “Imagine if we could have stopped Thanos before he reached the height of his power.” Her mouth twisted into a grim line. “What choice do we have?”

“Imagine if _he_ could stop Thanos,” Dey countered. “I don’t think we want to make enemies of the Guardians of the Galaxy." He gave a worried frown, awkwardly shifting in his chair. “There has to be another option, some way to help him.” 

“There is only one thing I can think of that might have the power to separate him from his father’s light energy, and it’s sitting in the vault right below us,” she said tiredly. “But we have sworn to never use it, and with good reason. We cannot risk it.” 

“I am Groot,” Groot whispered excitedly. Rocket quickly reached over and covered his mouth, shaking his head in warning. 

“No, I’m sorry, Denarian, but for now we have to move him somewhere safer for all of us. It’s too dangerous for him to remain here,” she decided. “We have an outpost on Galevin. We’ll move him there. I want you to have a room prepared.” 

“Don’t you mean a cell?" Dey asked.

“I mean a room,” she corrected sharply. “We’ll make him as comfortable as we can while we investigate the depth of his powers. The others will need to be detained here. We’ll have to move Mr. Quill before they realize what we're doing, or I'm afraid we'll have a fight on our hands.” 

“There’s no getting out of that,” Dey warned her. “The Guardians don’t give up.” 

Nova looked towards him, her expression saddened. “Give me another option.” 

“We could trust them,” Dey said simply. “It worked before.”

For a moment, she seemed to consider it, then she shook her head. “I’m afraid we cannot afford to trust them. We can grant them as many pardons as we'd like, it doesn't change what they are: killers, criminals, and thieves. No action, no matter how heroic, can erase the past. We lost three of our planetary alliances for pardoning Gamora alone." She pursed her lips and met Dey's eyes. "They are not innocents."

She leaned forward against the table, her palms resting on the surface, desperate to explain her reasoning. To Rocket, it looked a little like she was trying to convince herself. 

"They stole from the Sovereign just a matter of weeks ago, and since then Ayesha has begun sending patrol ships far outside her own borders. The Sovereign are fickle and unpredictable, and we no longer have the resources needed to police them. The Guardians' actions could very well lead us to another war, and we cannot sit idly by, continually waiting for them to save us from problems they always seem to have some hand in creating."

The Nova Prime sighed, her expression softening slightly. “In any case, he will be far safer with us than if Ayesha got her hands on him,” she said. “Perhaps if we can contain Quill, and study his powers, we may still find a solution that works for us all.” 

Rocket balled his small hands into fists at the mention of ’study.’ He understood such terms perfectly well, and they weren’t anything like as innocuous as they sounded. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Dey replied tonelessly. 

“We just need to find a way to keep the other guardians here until he’s been hidden on Galevin,” she decided. “Now that the remaining crew have been taken into custody, I want the Milano locked down. Do we know where the Destroyer is?” 

“No sign of him on the ship, ma’am,” one of the guards said, “just the girl.” 

“He must be waiting for them somewhere,” she sighed. “That’s certainly a complication we didn’t need, but I think we have our bases covered for the time being at least. Gamora is with Quill, and we have Rocket and Groot locked in one of the waiting rooms.” 

Dey snorted, and Rocket’s eyes shot back to the man curiously. 

“Something to add, Denarian?” Nova asked him cooly. 

“Rocket has escaped from 23 high security prisons, and not one of them ever managed to hold him more than three days," he offered, and though he kept his voice professional, his eyes were defiant. “I don’t think a locked waiting room is going to pose much of a problem for him.” He paused for a moment. “Ma’am.” 

Nova Prime paled slightly, before turning back to her guards. “Go, check on them,” she ordered. 

Which was Rocket’s cue to get moving. 

He reached back and placed Groot on his shoulder and then took off down the ventilation shaft. His feet gently pushed off against the metal, his light weight making their progress near silent. He spun around a corner as they reached a turn, and headed back in the direction they’d left Quill and Gamora in the med bay. 

“I am Groot,” Groot said, worriedly twisting his tiny hands in Rocket’s fur. 

“Don’t worry,” Rocket assured him with a snarl, “ain’t no one experimenting on Quill. They try it: I’ll kill ‘em all.”

* * * * * 

“—take one down, pass it around, eighty-nine —"

“I still do not understand this song,” Gamora broke in, as she glanced through the small window on the door, checking the hall for any sign of the guards. “Most of your Earth melodies are so pleasant.” 

“This one is mostly just to annoy people,” Peter admitted. 

“Why are you trying to annoy me?” she demanded. 

“I’m not!” he protested. 

“You just said you were,” she snapped. 

Peter fell back on the table with a sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “It’s meant to be fun. It passes the time. It’s just like counting backwards, it keeps my mind occupied.” 

“It would be much more efficient to simply count back from one hundred,” Gamora told him helpfully. 

“Right, I’ll remember that for next time we’re locked together in a room,” Peter said, giving up trying to explain. “So, do we have a plan?” 

“We talk to them,” Gamora said. “We explain to them very nicely that they need to provide us with a key to your cuffs, and then allow us to leave.” 

“Straightforward, to the point. I like it,” he said. “And when it doesn’t work?” 

“I make them,” she answered simply.

“Needs work,” Peter decided, glancing over at her. “There is a chance this is for the best, you know.” 

“I am not leaving you here,” she said fiercely. She pushed off from the door and then stalked over to lurk above him, but her anger dissolved when she noticed the signs of pain around his eyes. “Do they still hurt?” 

“A little," Peter admitted. “Kinda comes in waves.” 

“You should not have let her put these on you,” she said worriedly. 

“Let’s not pretend, Gamora,” he said. “She would have put them on me anyway.” 

“Not without a fight,” she insisted, watching Peter warily. “It isn’t like you to give in."

“This isn’t like the other times,” he told her tiredly, pushing himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the table, and Gamora stepped forward, bracing her hands against the table on either side of him. “There’s no enemy we can go attack. The bad guy's inside me. I don’t know how to fight that, but maybe they do.” 

“Oh, boo hoo! So what. So you heal from Spinex guns and rusted nails! Get a grip!” a disembodied voice called out. “It’s not like it’s an unuseful skill.” 

Peter’s eyes widened. “Rocket?” he called in surprise, glancing around the empty room. 

“Down here,” Rocket said. 

They could see a small vent on the back wall, a small furry arm was stuck through it and unscrewing it one by one. The last screw came loose, and then the grate was falling to crash on the ground. Rocket crossed his arms and glared at them, and Groot popped up behind his head and gave them a wave. “I am Groot,” he cried, relieved to see his friends in one piece. 

“Here I come to rescue you, and find you sitting here having a pity party,” Rocket said, his lip curling back in disgust. “Why aren’t you doing anything? Don’t you even know yet that Nova betrayed us?” 

“We thought we’d talk to them,” Gamora offered. 

“Is Quill’s stupidity infectious?” Rocket asked her. “They’re not gonna—“ 

Rocket broke off as he caught sight of the metal cuffs around Peter’s wrists. He set Groot aside and leapt up onto the table next to him, staring at the cuffs with growing horror. 

“Are those Devil’s Grip cuffs?” Rocket cried. “What the hell'd you let them put those on you for?

"Nova said they'd stop me getting all, you know, glowy and stuff,” Peter told him. "They sort of hurt, but I haven't started melting through the floor, so I guess they work. Once she comes back, we can —"

"Don't you get it? She’s not gonna help you,“ Rocket snarled. "You're nothing but a power source to them now. There's no talkin' to 'em."

Gamora frowned as she took in Rocket's increasing worry. Rocket wasn't really prone to displaying an abundance of concern, and it was setting her on edge. "Peter, maybe he's right," she said.

"They're just trying to keep people safe," Peter said. "We at least owe it to them to give us an explanation."

"We came here for help, after saving their asses not once, but twice!" Rocket protested. "We don't owe them a thing. Someone tries to lock us up, we blow 'em up. It's simpler that way, and besides, I've heard about all of their explanations I can stand."

"I am Groot!" Groot agreed.

"What are you talking about? Have they spoken with you?" Gamora asked.

"Groot overheard them, and took me to them, so we got a front row seat to one of their briefings. They're planning to move Quill off-planet, some place called Galevin, and keep the rest of us in holding here." He snorted. "It took me five minutes to come up with a plan to break out of their supposedly inescapable Kyln, and then they toss me in a waiting room like that's gonna do anything. I'm almost insulted. At least Dey saw the flaw in that logic."

"Dey was there?” Gamora asked hopefully. "Do you think he'd help us?"

"He’s not for doing what they're doing cause he ain’t stupid like the rest of 'em," Rocket admitted, which was quite the endorsement considering the source, “but he’s still a solider, so that don’t mean he won’t still do it.” 

"I trust Dey," Peter decided. "And even the Nova wouldn't be doing this without a good reason."

"We've really got to have a talk about your lack of survival instincts," Rocket told him. “I’m not always gonna be there to save your sorry ass, ya know.” 

“Rocket, I do not believe the Nova Corps would harm us without cause,” Gamora said, coming to Peter's defense.

“Oh, is that what you think? Is that what you _believe_? Well, you want to know how Devil’s Grip cuffs work?” Rocket demanded, his soft voice shot through with steel. His eyes narrowed as he reached back and pointed to Peter’s wrists. “There’s a bolt right down the middle of the cuff, it goes straight through the wrist. It scans ya and calculates the path of least resistance, so it doesn’t break bones, and it cauterizes the wound so quick there isn’t even any blood. But it’s barbarism in a pretty little package!” He looked back at Gamora. “You really think they won’t hurt us, then you’re dumber than Quill. Cause they’ll do it. They’ll just do it with a smile, thinking they’re doing the right thing the whole time, and that’s the worst kinda enemy you can have.” 

“Are you serious?” Peter asked, looking at his wrist in trepidation. He held it up to his line of sight to see the small steel rod that disappeared into his wrist on either side. “No wonder they hurt so much.” 

“You didn’t have that neat healing trick, and it would probably hurt a hell of a lot worse. It taps into your nervous system and your blood-lines. I’ve seen guys twice your size wearing those things curled up and whimperin’ in a corner,” Rocket explained. “You start building up energy and those things’ll act like lightning rods. It pulls all that energy in, and cycles it right back into you. You thought they hurt going on? Just wait until you set them off.”

“How do we get them off him?" Gamora asked anxiously. 

“You don’t put them on in the first place!” Rocket shouted, aware that he was beginning to verge towards hysterical, but not quite able to stop the panic building in his own chest. "That's how!"

"Rocket," Gamora said warningly.

Rocket reached up and anxiously tugged at the fur behind his ears. "Look, each pair of these cuffs is tuned to a very specific sonic frequency, and has a key with that exact frequency that can open it. They aren't interchangeable and you can bet they’re keeping the one for his close. I might be able to replicate it, through trial and error, but it's gonna hurt like hell every time we get it wrong."

"Or, we could just—“ Peter began, but was ignored.

"Escape must be our first priority, but we will keep an eye out for the Nova," Gamora decided. "There's a good chance she is the one that holds the key."

"Guys, come on, let's all just calm down, we aren't going after the Nova Prime!" he shouted. "This is probably all a misunderstanding. We can still talk to them. Anyway, it’s not like we can just walk out of here."

"I'd like to see them try to stop us," Gamora said.

"Oh yeah," Rocket shouted. "Now you're speaking my language." He darted forward, hopping up onto a console so he would be high enough to reach the control panel beside the door. 

"Can you open it?" she asked him. 

"Are you kidding me? Even Groot could hack this thing," Rocket snorted.

"I am Groot?" Groot offered, reaching out to try and follow Rocket up. 

"No, I don't want you to hack it! It's an expression, get back over there," Rocket sniped. He turned back to the door panel, and pulled off the casing for the electric lock. Xandarians had such intense bureaucratic structure that actual hardwired security had all but atrophied within their culture. No one was crazy enough to challenge the Nova Corps, ‘cept Ronon, and without people trying to break in, they never had the motivation to improve on their existing technology. 

Being a criminal was practically a public service, really. 

All it took was three cut wires, one end charge repulser, and one little twist of the exposed fiber optic connections before the door lock clicked and released. “Hah,” Rocket said. “Pathetic.” 

His smug celebratory moment was slightly derailed when two guards appeared at the end of the hall, rushing towards them. “We’ve got incoming.” 

“Leave them to me,” Gamora told them. 

Rocket reached over and pulled open the door. “They’re all yours,” he told her generously. 

Gamora stepped out into the hall. The two guards were in full riot gear, holding the same taser staffs they’d had in the Kyln, but she didn’t so much as flinch as they raced towards her.

“You do not want to do this,” she warned them. 

“On the ground,” one of them yelled, as they both skid to a stop less than a foot away from her.

The distance wasn’t far enough. 

Gamora caught the end of the closet guard’s staff, and then slammed it forward into the guy’s head hard enough to crack the visor of his helmet. Even as the stunned guard was trying to stay on his feet, she was already spinning herself into a roundhouse kick, slamming the other guard into the opposite wall. Then she followed him, expertly twirling the newly acquired staff in her hands, before pressing it against the only available exposed skin on the guard: his neck. 

He lasted about three seconds before he was falling to the ground in a twitching, jittery, heap. 

The first guard pushed off the wall towards her with a yell, and it might have been brave if it wasn’t just sort of sad. Gamora caught him easily with one hand on his collar and one hand on his belt, and then she fell back, smoothly dropping to the ground in a controlled fall while bringing her legs up between them. Her back had barely touched the floor and she was already launching him straight over her head.

Gamora easily flipped herself back to her stomach and then back up to her feet. The guard landed hard right at Rocket and Peter’s feet, where they still stood in the doorway. He looked out for the count. 

Rocket beckoned Groot to get on his shoulder, and moved forward to meet her while Peter stayed back and divested the unfortunate guard of his blaster. 

“They’ve caught on to our escape,” Gamora said. She took out the guards without breaking a sweat, but their hurried approach did not bode well. There were plenty more where they came from. “Peter, we need to move—“ 

Gamora broke off with a frown, watching in confusion as Peter stepped back into the med bay and then pulled the door closed behind him. She started moving, but she knew she would never reach him in time. There was a flash of light through the small door window as he fired off the weapon, and by the time she reached the door and pulled, there was no give. 

“Peter?” she called anxiously. “What are you doing?”

He stepped up to the door, watching her sadly. “It’s me they want. If you run they won’t chase you,” he told her. “You’ve got to take the others and go. Get them somewhere safe.” 

“We do not have time for this,” she said angrily. “Open the door.” 

“We don’t have time,” Rocket agreed, calling back to them. “Gamora, there’s something you need to know.” 

Gamora ignored Rocket, keeping her eyes on Peter. “You don’t want me to have to ask again.” 

“I’m sorry,” he started, his voice catching. "I really am, but I need you to—“ 

"Gamora!" Rocket shouted again.

"What?" she snapped, turning to stomp back towards him. “I swear, if you try to make me leave him behind again…” Neither she nor Drax had quite forgiven Rocket for preventing them from going after Peter back on Ego’s planet. Peter ended up surviving, but it might have gone another way, and if it had she knew the Guardians would not have survived it either.

It was not something she had any intention of letting happen again. 

"I wouldn't," Rocket protested, hurt flashing across his eyes so quickly she couldn’t be certain she saw it. "Well, not for long, anyway. But considering his newly developed penchant for self-sacrifice, it might be a good idea to leave him here while we work on a plan to fix him. We aren’t exactly gonna be able to pull off a heist if we’re dragging him kickin’ and screamin’ along behind us.” 

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "What heist?"

"The Nova Corps have something that may be able to fix 'im, but think it's too dangerous to try," he explained. "They've got it locked up somewhere a vault in the basement. It's the only lead we've got, but Quill might not go for it if we tell him the risks."

"Well, we can't leave him here, you said yourself they want to move him, and the way he’s been acting he might not try to stop them," she said. "Whatever we decide, we must do it together." She narrowed her eyes and stalked back towards the door. Peter stumbled back nervously when he saw her approach, despite the locked two inch metal door between them and the fact that he had the blood of a Celestial. 

"Gamora, please just listen—“ he started. 

"You will open this door, right now," she told him.

"We can't stop this," Peter said. “We can’t, because it's in me, and it talked to me, okay, it _told me_. And it looked like Yondu but it wasn't, it was Fondu, and he said there isn't any way to get him out. Nova pretty much said the same thing, so I’m like, ninety to ninety-five percent sure it wasn’t all just some bizarre hallucination. I’m too dangerous to be around any of you. Maybe wherever they're sending me will be for the best..."

Gamora stared at him disbelievingly, trying to make sense of the words and coming up empty. “ _What_ are you even talking about?"

Peter paused. “Okay, I can see how that would be confusing,” he said. “Look, it’s a little hard to explain.” 

"How about I explain something to you, Peter Quill?" she asked darkly. "We are a team, and we don't leave each other behind. You're part of us, and if you're staying here, so are we. And if you're a moron and get yourself locked up somewhere, we're going to track you down and get you back out. Because that's what the Guardians of the Galaxy do."

Peter watched her, momentarily speechless. He tried to imagine what he would do if it was Gamora on the other side of a locked door. He tried to imagine leaving her, and he couldn't. She'd been lost in the _void of space_ , back when he barely even knew her, and he couldn't leave her. What right did he have to ask her to do something he couldn't do himself?

"Okay," he decided.

“Okay," she echoed with relief. "Then open the door."

"I can’t,” he told her. 

She narrowed her eyes. "I swear to Halis—“ 

“No, I mean literally, I literally can’t!” he cried. “I shot out the door mechanism. That was sort of the point. It was supposed to be a moment of heroic self-sacrifice, but you kinda ruined it."

Gamora laughed disbelievingly, leaning her forehead against the glass window of the door. "Peter, you idiot," she said fondly. 

“You're both idiots,” Rocket muttered. “Step aside."

Gamora stepped back as Rocket slapped a small device against the door's deadbolt. "You just happened to have one of those?"

"I made like four of these while I was waiting for you," Rocket said.

"Told you," Peter called.

"You just get back from the door," Gamora demanded sharply. 

Peter held his hands up in supplication and stepped away. Rocket finished attaching the small bomb, and moved him and Groot away from the blast radius, Gamora right on his heels, dragging one of the fallen guards behind her by the foot and dropping him off beside the other. 

Rocket looked up at her as she came to stand beside him. “Considering our fearless leader’s new penchant for self-sacrifice, I don’t think it’s a good idea to let him in on the minutiae of the plan,” Rocket told her casually. "He doesn't need to know the Nova won't use it cause it's too dangerous."

“Agreed,” Gamora said tightly. 

“We still gonna do it?” he asked. 

“Do we have another option?” Gamora asked. 

"Not if we want to keep Star-Munch around,” he shrugged. “I guess I’d miss ‘im.” 

"I am Groot!" Groot cried.

"Okay, so I'd miss him!" Rocket snapped, then he twisted the dial on the trigger, and the door blew right off its hinges.

Gamora rushed forward, grabbing Peter by the front of his shirt the moment he was in reach, and slamming him back against the wall. “If you ever do something that stupid again, I will kill you myself,” she promised. 

“Wouldn’t that sort of defeat the purpose?” Peter asked. 

“Perhaps. But it would make me feel better,” she told him petulantly. 

Rocket watched their strange mating ritual with exasperation, and impatiently tapped one of his feet. “If you two are about done, we do have a vault to go break into.” 

"A vault?” Peter said in disbelief, as Gamora reluctantly released him. “You wanna heist something right in the middle of our escape?"

"Technically two things,” Rocket told them, “cause they took Mantis, too.” 

"Rocket, that's what you lead with!" Peter cried in exasperation. "Where did they take her?"

"Interrogation room would be my guess," Rocket said. "They're not gonna have any kinda record of her, and that'll make 'em nervous."

"Okay, follow me," Peter told them, as he pushed off from the wall.

“How do you know where to go?” Rocket demanded, as he took off after him regardless. Gamora stayed behind long enough to pick up the other guard’s blaster with one hand, and grab the taser staff with the other, before starting after them. 

"I may have been arrested by the Nova Corps more than a few times,” Peter explained. He dropped against the wall of a corner, and then glanced down the next hall to check for guards before continuing on. “Mostly they'd just toss me in holding for the night, but I guess by the time we all got caught with the orb they were sick of dealing with me and shipped me off to the Kyln."

"What, like that was your first time doing hard time?" Rocket snorted.

"Yeah, sorta," he admitted, looking a little sheepish at the admission that he hadn't been in near as many prisons as the rest of them. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a few worlds want to lock me up in some pretty shady places, but Yondu always bailed me out before it got that far.” 

Rocket watched him with disbelief. "You're lucky you had me, or they'da eaten you alive in the Kyln."

"I am Groot!" Groot cried.

"I know you helped!" Rocket protested, glancing towards him. "No one said you didn't help!"

"And then I saved Gamora. Twice,” Peter said, ignoring Gamora’s irritated huff of breath. “So it's a good thing we're not all keeping score.” 

"Speak for yourself, I have a tally," Rocket said. "In case you're wondering, I'm winning."


End file.
